Call On Me Again
by w.s.caer
Summary: Four times Eric and Sookie part ways and one time they don't.
1. i

**Title:** Call On Me Again  
_(four times they part and once they come together)  
_**Word Count: 1560  
****A/N: **Thought I'd dip my toe in this fandom with a small fic. Five times format. Starting with something light before the heavier stuff. A total of five parts. Primarily based on True Blood, but I like to draw on the novel as well. Timeline may be wonky as well, so obviously AU.

* * *

**i**

She doesn't know how she manages to get herself into these predicaments. Really, she doesn't.

Sookie takes a moment to consider her life and, oh right, there's the fairy thing.

And the telepathy thing.

And can't forget tall and blond, and, dark and brooding with fangs things either.

Mostly the things with fangs though, she decides. Her life was just fine and dandy before they came along. No early evening abductions for her, no siree, back when she was a regular ol' telepathic barmaid in small town Louisiana. Now it's all _I'm dying, suck these bullets out of my chest, Sookie_ and _Yield to me, Sookie_ and _Let's have passionate, primal sex on your entrance rug, Sookie_.

All right, so all these things can really be attributed to said tall and blond. Doesn't discount the recent string of unplanned vacations at gunpoint, though. Four in the last nine weeks if the current vampire-werewolf alliance kidnapping is included.

You know things aren't looking good when other supes put aside millennia-long hate and band together to assure your demise.

The car finally stops and so does her jostling in the trunk. At this point, she doesn't even bother trying to gouge out any eyes when the back pops open and rough hands yank her out. "Hey, no need for that now. I'm cooperating, aren't I?" It's well past sunset, so reinforcements won't be too far behind.

Sookie looks around.

A junkyard. Lovely.

Maybe she should try to work up more fear or, rather, _any_ fear.

Maybe they could just follow her increasing annoyance instead? It wouldn't take much with that and her presence so far from Bon Temps to deduce what must have happened. She hopes, anyway. Her rescue team is smart – when they aren't childishly bickering, that is.

"You don't want to do that," she advises when her wrists are bound by a pair of silver cuffs. "Trust me, it doesn't do anything but annoy the hell out of them." But the Were just twists them tighter. Sookie shrugs. "Suit yourself." Oh, well. She tried. They must be young, she thinks, or plain dumb.

"I'm just," she points to the side, "going to stand over there." Yeah, it was best to stay clear while her guys did their thing. The hell kind of kidnapping is this anyway, letting her walk around wherever? Did they see her as so little a threat? She should probably feel less insulted, but, damn, if her ego doesn't take a bruising.

It's kind of comical, really, the way her ragtag band of captors gathers around in a circle and whispers and gestures wildly towards her, obviously trying to decide on a course of action. Great, she got duped by amateurs. There's hissing and growling and the snick of fangs and, hey, if they keep at it maybe things will just take care of themselves before the cavalry gets here.

That would require Sookie having a modicum of luck though, and, lord knows, she's in short supply of that.

Eric arrives first, cratering the ground with a powerful knee and fist as he drops from the sky – a Viking god reborn. Sookie rolls her eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't roll straight on out of her eye sockets. _Show off_, she mentally scoffs.

"Took your sweet time."

He shoots her a maniacal grin, blue eyes dancing with silent laughter. Eric's in a playful mood tonight, it seems. "Anticipation is half the fun, lover." His words drip with promise. Oh yeah, playful all right.

"Well, less anticipating; more doing."

The grin widens.

Good lord, he's impossible.

"From your lips to my heart." Then he back-flips, graceful as ever, over the vamp sneaking up on him.

Bill's entrance is markedly less theatrical, but it's the presence that counts. He turns up just as Eric's tearing the throat out of one of her abductors and automatically seeks her out. "Sookie," he says in the way only Bill can and her heart swells. She gives a little wave back to let him know all is good on her end before he jumps into the foray alongside his Sheriff.

Bill makes quick work of the Weres, but Eric is still toying with his prey, taunting his way through punches and bites. Even from where she is, Sookie can hear the crunch of bones under Eric's fists and she knows, despite his jovial tone, his temper is getting the best of him.

When the bodies finally stop twitching to their satisfaction, both finally make their way over. The cuffs are already digging in and she eagerly holds up her wrists.

"We could put them to better use." Eric waggles his eyebrows in case she doesn't already know _exactly_ what he means.

"They're silver," Sookie retorts.

An eyebrow goes up as if to say, _And?_

Unbelievable. "Masochist."

It's not flirting if it's true, right?

He smirks with fang. "With you – always."

"Keys, Eric," Bill cuts in, irritation clear.

To her surprise, Eric digs one out of his jeans. "Always prepared," he quips, and thankfully doesn't elaborate any further on the usual circumstances required for such preparedness. Despite the earlier bravado, he hands it over to Sookie and then blurs his way to antagonize the vamps some more.

"Thanks for coming," she says warmly to Bill once she's free, and then shows her appreciation suitable to his boyfriend status.

Eric zips back over with no sense of timing whatsoever – or, perfect timing, she's sure he would say. "Bill, you know the drill by now." Sookie knows it, too: interrogation and cleanup. The scowl on Bill's face fazes no one, Eric least of all, and Sookie places a soothing peck on his lips before he speeds off to do his Sheriff's bidding.

"Don't I get a kiss?" It's innocent, the way he asks, and if she doesn't know him like she does, she might actually believe it.

Still.

Eric _did_ come to her rescue, along with Bill.

In fact, it would be quite rude _not_ to thank him for his effort. Right? Right, she tells herself. The logic isn't completely sound but she doesn't want to risk Gran rolling in her grave over her granddaughter's bad manners. "On the cheek," she warns as she edges closer. He nods to her terms eagerly, even turning his head to the side, and lets her thinks she's emerged victorious.

Sookie falls for the oldest trick in the book.

Eric is quick.

Real quick.

He grabs the back of her head and pulls her into a very thorough examination of her tonsils. With his tongue. In her mouth.

Eric is an excellent kisser. What's worse – Eric _knows_ he's an excellent kisser. When his hand finds its way down to her ass, Bill's voice rings out, sharp as a whip. "Eric!" Then, a second later, with more shock, "Sookie!" when she gropes him back.

"It's the blood," she instantly blurts.

"It's a little bit of you, too," Eric teases back.

Okay, fine. "Maybe a little," she acquiesces, and is promptly rewarded for her semi-honesty with another tonsil inspection.

"_Eric!_"

"Yes, yes. She's yours, Bill." Eric mimics her earlier eye roll. "Don't you get tired of that old ball and chain?"

She shakes her head, far more amused than she cares to admit of his relentless pursuit – it's definitely the blood. "I love Bill."

"You love me, too," he reminds her with a sly curve of his lips, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. Smug bastard.

Sookie tries not to smile back, but his energy is infectious. It's hard not to throw him a bone. "I tolerate you."

"You love me," he insists.

"I _like_ you," she concedes, refusing to admit to anything more.

"See? From _tolerate_ to _like_ in two seconds. What I could do with a night, lover…" His fingers graze over her bare arm and she clamps down impossibly hard on her traitorous body. No need to imagine. She has plenty to draw from. "I would fuck you so hard, Sookie," he promises huskily. Blood rushes simultaneously to her nether regions and her face. "Until you came writhing on my cock again and again, dripping with need for me. Until you forgot the name Bill Compton. I want to see your lips wrapped –"

As soon she comes to her senses, she clamps her hands over Eric's mouth for both his sake and that of her underwear. Over his shoulder, Bill has murder in his eye.

All of a sudden, something wet and rough drags itself across her palm.

Christ. What a rake.

"Shut up." She can feel his laughter against her skin even as she claims her hands back. "Before I intimately acquaint you with that nice table leg over there."

Eric tilts his head, eyelids drooping lazily, and Sookie has to count all the reasons in her head why taking him home is a very bad idea. "You'd miss me."

She can feel her ears and neck heat up as she considers her response. "Oh, I'd miss certain parts of you." Good lord, the man brings out the absolute worst in her. She doesn't even remotely feel sorry.

Eric laughs, loudly, and she makes shooing gestures at him.

"I hope you call on me again, Miss. Stackhouse." He steps back with a cheeky grin, winks, and then takes off into the sky like a goddamn superhero.

* * *

**Reviews always welcome. **


	2. ii

**A/N: Still around. Mostly True Blood but a bit of the books may bleed through.**

**To clarify, each part is its own AU (but united through a common theme). In this case, Eric never finds a cure for Hep V; Sookie wasn't with Alcide, doesn't become a carrier or passes it on to Bill.**

**This part got away from me, in more ways than one. +10 points if you spot the Buffy reference.**

**Word Count: 7276**

* * *

**ii**

She deflects for weeks: picking up late night shifts at the bar; going to bed unnaturally early in the day; fixing unseen ailments around the house (the porch needs a new coat of paint – or ten, just to be safe). The last time her life was this quiet, this _normal_, her gran was still alive and an even tan was her biggest worry. These days – she shuts down that train of thought immediately.

It's Bill that shows up one night at her house, eyes tight with discomfort when she opens the door. "I've never known you to be a coward," he challenges. And it takes all the years under Gran's upbringing not to slam the door back in his face.

Even if he's not entirely wrong.

"Why are you here, Bill?" The weariness of the impending conversation already seeps into her voice, into her bones, as she sags slightly against the wooden frame.

He blinks slowly, perhaps surprised by her question. "You must know…" he starts before trailing off, suddenly unsure of his certainty in the knowledge she possesses. There's a moment, where Sookie thinks the awkwardness will be enough to dissuade Bill, but it's short lived. "When was the last time you saw Eric?" He looks away as he asks and Sookie's glad he does because her embarrassment is palpable in the rush of blood to her face.

It's appalling, she knows.

It's been months since his return to Shreveport, longer still since they stood in his bar among tears and relief, with poisoned blood running through black veins, and Eric's eyes that shadowed with everything unsaid. The finality of the moment had sunken in, her heart clamouring beneath her ribs, lungs that were empty of breath, and he had stood across the room with a gaze too intent to be anything other than his last.

So she nestled it away. Her life found routine again. The silence out of Shreveport just background noise to her daily life.

Preparing herself, she had reasoned. _Running away_, something in her mind had whispered back.

Now, Bill stood on her doorstep trying to drag reality into the house with him and Sookie finds she isn't prepared at all.

"He's – " Suddenly, her tongue is far too heavy. She can't even think it, let alone say it out loud. Bill's eyes soften at the words left hanging in the air, and she thinks maybe she sees a bit of regret too. "You know, there was a time when you warned me away from him," she says quietly instead.

"There was a time when he wasn't in your heart," he replies just as quiet, a sadness lingering in his smile and words and, really, there's nothing Sookie can say to this.

She fiddles with the hem of her shirt. Chews on her lip under Bill's unblinking stare. "Why are you here?" she asks again.

He pauses, a second of time that feels stretched and distorted, then lifts a hand towards her, and she can't help the flinch, the automatic half step back into her home. Bill drops his hand.

"Is it so hard to imagine I desire the best for you? That you endure the least hurt possible in this life?"

It's not so hard, when she considers how they used to be. For all his faults, Bill has always tried to look out for her. Albeit in his own way.

"Your parents. Your grandmother. Tara. It doesn't have to be the same." Not an abrupt disappearance from her life this time, but rather a tide that ebbs away. A pencil sketch that's faded with time, the edges blurring into the background of the paper.

The opportunity to say goodbye.

Closure.

Her eyes feel too watery, and she gives a soft sniff. Thinks back to the black veins creeping along the edges of a shirt and the terror that had gripped her. "I can't."

"You can. Just this once."

She can't remember the last time he spoke so gently. "Tomorrow," she bargains. "I'll go see him tomorrow." Even as the words come tumbling out, it's a promise she's already pushing to the back of her mind.

"He's dying, Sookie."

And there it is.

She can't help but glare at Bill. "Don't say that."

"Eric's going to die – "

"No."

" – and you'll just be sitting in your house when it happens."

"He's not – " but her voice cracks, breaks in as many pieces as her heart. Bill's words attach themselves to something panicked inside her, something that churns squeamishly at the thought.

Bill half turns away, squinting at something only he can see in the distance. "I didn't think you'd want it to end like this," he says quietly, gaze flicking to her briefly. She wants to tell her him he's wrong, that she's just tired – _so_ tired – of having the people around her ripped out of her life, and that it's better this way, for everyone involved, if she finally learns to distance herself.

What she does instead is stare at the ground.

He lets the screen door shut, makes it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before her arms shoot out to open the door and her mouth speaks without consent.

"Wait."

Bill turns back to look up at her.

The blood swooshes through her ears unbearably loud. It feels as though her heart is forcing itself up her throat. "I need – will you drive me there?" The words come out without thought or wilful action, against an internal wave of frenzied fear and unease and it's no trouble to imagine the anxious look her face has set into.

Bill is kind, only nodding slowly before replying, "Of course."

It's a few minutes more to run a brush through her hair and find her purse and keys. Maybe straighten out the covers on her bed and realign the nail polish on the rack, too, as long as she's in the room. All she's doing is delaying the inevitable. Bill is downstairs waiting and, if need be, ready to take her kicking and screaming to Shreveport now that she's agreed.

The drive is silent and much too fast for her liking. She doesn't even realize she's drifted away until Bill is gently shaking her awake. When she looks out the window, all she sees are the silhouettes of trees reaching for a darkened sky.

He reaches across to squeeze her hand. "Be strong, Sookie."

That was probably more ominous than he intended.

The house is an impressive figure, no means a mansion but still significantly larger than the farmhouse. Looking around it's easy to see why he's chosen such a place - away from the city lights and sounds and surrounded by acres of wild, natural growth, and she wonders if the forests of Louisiana bear any resemblance to the forests of his human life.

She hesitates going through the door – left unlocked, no need to worry about someone sneaking into a vampire's home – but Bill doesn't spare her a backwards glance so she's forced to quickly catch up. His confidence in navigating through the house speaks to his familiarity, and she's curious to the amount of time he's spent here in the last few months.

They enter under an arched doorway that opens to a spacious area with dark furniture and Pam tapping away on a laptop. "Bringing home strays, Bill?"

Well, Sookie supposes she deserves a little snark. "Nice seeing you too, Pam," she replies dryly.

Bill zips over to Pam and they have a near mute exchange while Sookie stands by the entryway picking invisible lint off her sweater. Their conversation doesn't last long. She hears voices on the stairs leading down to the sitting area and then –

With her gaze already trained on the floor, she notices his feet first.

He's barefoot on the tiles and it's kind of endearing.

The silence isn't lost on her either. Her cheeks warm with embarrassment when she finally looks up – yes, of course he's noticed her. Two others vampires are with him, but she doesn't recognize either. Not that she tried too hard, because Eric – she forces herself to not look away – the dark veins that once peeked over his collar now stretch impossibly long fingers up his neck, the tips framing his face. If possible, there is less colour to his skin. It's even harder to ignore the sunken cheekbones and the way his shoulders jut out.

"Miss. Stackhouse. To what do I owe this pleasure?" The surprise in his voice is genuine and it stings a little. She deserves that, too.

She blurts out the first thing that comes to her mind. "Just in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop by." Her nervousness shows in the pitch and forced casualness of her voice. Sookie tells herself to get a grip, but guilt is becoming an awfully big elephant to ignore, and Eric is no help with his inscrutable face or eyes resting so heavily on her. It's a small miracle she's still upright. She gives a tight press of the lips, something in-between a smile and a grimace.

Before Pam can deliver a scathing comment, Eric dips his head imperceptibly and speaks in too quiet a voice for human hearing. There are quick nods from the unknown vampires before they clear out along with Bill. Pam stays a moment longer to sneer, just in case there's any doubt as to how she views Sookie's presence here. Soon it's just her and Eric, occupying polar ends of the room.

She can't remember the last time she felt this skittish, eyes restless around the room. Pam's laptop lay forgotten on the coffee table. A lone coffin in the corner. Scattered papers on the couches.

There's no effort to fill the silence from the other end of the room and she's eventually forced to look at him. He's dressed how she mostly knows him, in dark pants and a dark tank top. There's something comforting about that.

The veins seem darker than before, like someone has dipped a brush in the night sky and used his pale skin for a patterned canvas. Even now there is a beauty to him that wouldn't be afforded to another. Something squeezes inside her at the sight.

"How have you been, Eric?" It's possibly the most underwhelming thing she could have said.

The corners of his eyes narrow just a little; his lips form a thin line as though he's biting back what he truly wants to say. In the end, though, he sounds exhausted more than anything else. She's not sure she wants to know what that might mean. "What are you doing here?"

His abruptness isn't entirely unwarranted, so she forgives him this. "I thought," she starts. Exhales a deep breath. Tries again. "I wanted to see how you were."

Eric looks at her hard for a long moment, before giving a shake of his head and turning around to go upstairs. "Go home, Sookie."

She's struck dumb, speechless, long enough for him to ascend the stairs and disappear from sight. The dismissal is not at all what she expected.

It takes few minutes of aimless wandering before she finds him. The room has massive double doors that would have been much too difficult to pull open if they, luckily, hadn't already been left slightly ajar.

He's the first thing she sees, back against the headboard of a bed, long legs that cross at the ankles, and eyes that half-open to take her in. Not particularly surprised at her presence in what is clearly his bedroom. The bed he's lying on is enormous by any standards and, knowing Eric, Sookie refrains from considering too hard as to what all that space might be used for.

The bed is adorned with sheets that are dark shades of blue and it dips slightly where she sits by his legs. His hair is unkempt, falling over his eyes and brow, and she can't help but reach out to see if it's as soft as she remembers. His head slips forward imperceptibly toward her fingers, just enough for her to comfortably sift through it.

Nothing he does is by accident.

How can she find words to tell him about the pit of overwhelming despair that takes hold when she thinks about a world that doesn't have him? Maybe something shows in her face, in how she fingers the strands of his hair, because he decides to have mercy, and she is grateful for the softening of his face and the quietness of his voice. "Nothing is forever, Sookie."

"You were."

Eric has always been larger than life, burning with an intensity so bright it is difficult to both be near or without him.

There's a muted melancholy that permeates the air and she wishes she knew how to make it better. She twists the bed sheet under her fingers. Smoothes it out again before meeting his gaze. "I hate seeing you like this," she confesses.

Eric considers her thoughtfully, then looks away. His eyes dart back to hers and there is now something light and familiar in them. "If you kiss me," he rasps, a small smile playing on his lips and eyes bright, and Sookie's heart lurches in her chest. "I promise to be happy."

She bites down, hard, on the inside of her cheek. Something in her breaks and she can't stand to look at him then – doesn't want to see the stupid grin that's masquerading on his face as he takes them back to a different time, a different place, a different bed between them – the same sly look in his eye.

She won't cry. She won't. "Bastard," she sniffs.

"Why?" Eric tugs gently on her hand, and she still hears the infuriating smile on his lips. "It's only a kiss." He tips her head up, strokes her chin, and she can't help leaning into him, one hand steady on his thigh, as he cups her face for the briefest press of his mouth over hers. "I always knew that line would work," he teases when they part. Sookie bites her lip and doesn't know whether to laugh or cry – still the same Eric.

It's easier after that.

She climbs onto the bed and tucks herself against his side. One of his arms keeps her close, his fingers scratching through her hair. His chin settles on top her head.

Sookie presses her face against his shoulder, trying not to think about how gaunt it feels under her cheek. "Tell me something."

"What?"

"Anything."

Voice low, he begins the tale of how he came to be.

* * *

She hopes she's forgiven.

* * *

Later, much later, when Pam shows up at the door to have a terse conversation, does Sooki realize how late into the night it is. As she puts on the shoes that had been slipped off hours earlier, she tries to tune out the harsh tenor underlying their exchange. It's clear neither is happy, but since Eric is the Maker of the pair, it's not surprising at all that it's Pam who leaves with a scowl.

"I should get going," she says when he turns to her, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I have the afternoon shift at the bar tomorrow and I should probably get some sleep before then."

"Of course." It's abrupt and choppy, as though he wants to say something else. "Be safe."

"Oh, you know me," she quips, and he gives a grins at that. She grins right back.

Sookie makes it across the room, one hand on the door when she stops.

A full beat passes.

She turns around and launches herself at Eric, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso and burying her nose in his chest.

"I'll come back tomorrow," she hears herself promise, squeezing him as hard as she can manage, and he squeezes back. Runs his cheek and jaw back and forth along the top of her head, and something warm settles over her heart.

"Yes," he murmurs.

She gives herself one more minute and then steps away with a nervous smile. It's hard to decipher the way he looks at her; almost tender and with more feeling exposed than he perhaps thinks.

"Tomorrow," she says again, unsure of whom she's reassuring. He merely takes her head in his hands and places a soft kiss on her forehead.

Sookie leaves before she's tempted to fling herself at him again and stay there for what's left of the night. Downstairs she's surprised to find Bill waiting. They load up the car quietly and just as he turns on the engine, she reaches across the console to lightly touch his arm. "Thank you," she breathes out. "You were right."

Bill looks uncomfortable more than anything else. "I'm glad this was beneficial for you."

Once again, she drifts off during the drive. When she wakes, it's in her bed with the bright light of late morning shining through her window.

* * *

As with every night for the past week, she finds Eric in his office, looking over papers behind his desk. Fangtasia's day-to-day operations are unofficially Pam's jurisdiction now, but Sookie's glad all the same that his child sees fit to consult on enough work to keep Eric occupied most nights.

Still in the doorway, she stares until he finally looks up in curiosity. "I'm going to groom you." An eyebrow goes up at her declaration. Emptying the bag on his desk, the amusement shows clear on his face once he connects the dots. "I didn't know which brand you like," she explains, gesturing to the half dozen hair gel products.

The chair rolls back just enough for her to perch on the desk, feet on either side of his thighs. Her fingers in his hair tug him close, and he complies to her will easily. "I quite like this spot." There's a cheeky grin on his face, from between her legs, and a flick to his ear only makes it widen.

"Hush."

Capturing one hand in his, he places a soft kiss on her wrist.

Sookie grabs a bottle at random since Eric doesn't particularly seem to care and sets to work with the comb. A few times he leans in to nibble along her jaw and she has to continually smack away fingers that creep under her shirt. Despite herself, she smiles at his juvenile antics. "You're incorrigible."

"Hmm, you love it."

She presses her lips together tightly, to prevent the growing smile. He's not entirely wrong. "There," Sookie pulls back to admire her handiwork. He looks like himself again, if thinner, and paler if that's possible. And, true to form, he steals another kiss on her neck and is licking and sucking down across her clavicle, nosing aside the collar of her shirt. The past week has been filled with much the same – she can't say she hasn't enjoyed it.

"Eric." Ignoring the heat his kisses elicit, she tries to push his head back. "Eric," she says louder and he finally picks his head up from her shoulder. Calling it a success is dubious as he gives this primal growl at the interruption and it goes straight to her nether regions.

She holds up the mirror she brought for him to pass judgement. "Not too bad?" But he stares longer than she expects and she grows a little nervous now. When he finally shifts his gaze towards her, it's with dark, serious eyes, and firm hands on her thighs that allow him to inch closer so he fits more snugly between her legs. He leans in slow and places a soft kiss on her lips. "It is perfect, thank you."

Sookie lets out a breath and smiles widely. Holds him in place with a hand on his neck and plants her own close-mouthed kiss. "You're welcome." Then she bends her head to nip at his chin, toying with the buttons of his shirt at the same time. She's found herself in various states of undress over the last few days and she thinks she'd like now to return the favour.

He lets her undo the first two buttons before clamping an iron hand around her wrist when she goes for the third. There's an equally steely look in his eye that catches her off guard and when he speaks, it's all rough edges. "What are you doing?"

"I want to see you." Her smile is hesitant. "All of you."

Eric stands abruptly, still graceful in how he unfolds all his limbs and reaches his full height, but it's easy to see he's angry in the way he turns and walks away. "If you wish to see a decaying corpse, then perhaps you should pay a visit to the morgue," he replies flatly.

For a moment, she's stunned into silence. But then he faces her, skin peeking through the halfway open shirt, and she understands.

Her heart constricts painfully in her chest, hurting for him. "Eric," she says softly, moving towards him. And perhaps he realizes his irrational outburst because he doesn't move away like she expects when she places her hands on his chest. Slowly, very slowly, she undoes the rest of the shirt as he meets her gaze with a stubborn stare. Every muscle in his body is held taut.

The shirt falls silently to the ground as she slides it off his shoulders. She rubs her palms back up his arms. Over the blades of his shoulders. Up his neck before drawing them over and down the front of his chest. When she reaches his belt, there's only half a moment of hesitation before she pulls on the leather. Her eyes don't falter from his.

With steady hands she pushes his pants down his hips, giving him room as he stiffly steps out of them.

Only when she is at arm's length does Sookie allow her eyes to drop. She digs her nails into her palms to stifle the gasp that wants life.

His chest. His stomach. His thighs. The entirety of his torso and legs are enveloped in a complex array of black channels that cross and loop several times over. And, there, feeding to the centre of the chaos, dark as the midnight sky, is a snarled knot of arteries and veins – a black hole in place of his heart that spreads thick arms down his sternum and each of his legs.

"Now you see me." The bitterness in his voice is withering, an invisible force that makes her want to shrink. It's more than just the tapestry of his skin, she realizes now. It's the way his shoulders stick out awkwardly. The faint outline of ribs along his sides and skin that's stretched too tight over his knees and legs. It's a body failing with time.

But it's still Eric.

Sookie looks and finds him in the stubborn set of his jaw, the way he still holds himself tall and unyielding. In his flirtatiousness teasing of moments ago. He's still Eric in the ways that matter.

She bridges the gap, and folds herself around him, her face against his shoulder and hands lightly rubbing his lower back. The tension eases a little. Her hands move around to his front, just catching the edge of his underwear before he manages to shrug away from her.

A growl rises from his throat. "Don't."

But she's stubborn, too.

"I'm not a child to be coddled," he snaps.

"I'm very aware how much you're not a child." There's a twitch of his lips and Sookie knows she has him. She reaches for him again, nails scratching lightly over his abdomen, and this time he lets her slip past the waistband of his boxers, his jaw locked tight. Standing on tiptoes, she presses her lips to his chin just as she fully grasps him. His head jerks back abruptly. "Relax," she says, softly. There's a retort sitting on the tip of his tongue, the way his eyes narrow at her, but she gives a gentle squeeze of her palm and he takes in a sharp, unneeded breath through his nose.

Sookie grins.

It's not long before he's fully erect from her stroking and she pulls down his underwear with her free hand, just enough so that the fabric no longer restricts her movement. "C'mon, Eric," she urges because he's gone too still. She tugs on the head of him. "Come _on_." Latches her teeth to his nipple and bites.

Then she's on her back on a mattress. One of the bedrooms close to the study, she guesses based on the neutral décor.

Eric hovers above her with an inscrutable look.

She reaches out a hand, but he stops it with his own and brings it to his lips for a kiss, his face finally softening with acquiescence.

"Stubborn woman." But there's no heat, only affection behind the words. He licks her palm several times, then manoeuvres her hand down his chest, nails lightly grazing skin, and places it on his cock. Sookie picks up right where she left off, stroking long and slow, wanting to wring the pleasure out of him.

Eric grunts his contentment, one hand fisting tightly next to her head, the other still locked around her wrist as he thrusts shallowly into her hand. "Sookie," he gasps. She strokes faster, watching with fascination as his control erodes, fangs snapping down, hips bucking unrelentingly, and dilated pupils that form chasms from his eyes.

It's arousing as hell.

Abruptly, he stops her hand, an excruciating groan the only sign of his own protest, but placates them both by getting her as naked as him and twisting her around so that she's on all fours, ass snug around his erection.

Eric grabs her wrist and presses it into the mattress, settling over her back. He rocks against her, slow, moving hands to fondle her breasts, fingers kneading greedily. His cheek settles against hers and she feels the grinding of his teeth, his cool chest on her overheated skin, slippery wetness where he shifts against her.

Sookie pushes back. "Please," she pants, sucks her lower lip between her teeth as he moans and slides up along her, cock grinding between her ass, his mouth fixed on her neck, sucking and licking an agonizing slow descent that parallels the path of his hands as they glide over her breasts and ribs until, finally, she feels the pads of his fingers where she needs them most. The sharp cry is entirely involuntary. Absolutely essential if she wants to retain any semblance to sanity. It takes time, even then, for his fingers to find their way inside. Three stretching her until her arms can no longer support her weight and she finds her face pressed against the sheets.

Eric is torturously unhurried in his pace, providing full, deep strokes of fingers and hips, spiralling them both towards an end. He's settled his forehead against the back of her neck, and she feels the puffs of unneeded breath exhaled every time he surges forward. Each sensation is heightened and prolonged, teased out of her until her legs give and she's tumbling into bliss.

When he comes, it's with tense shoulders and a hunched back, curses ripped from his mouth. She kisses what she can reach, mostly his neck and jaw as he regains himself. A chill dances down her spine as he runs a hand along it and it takes a moment for her to realize it's his tongue, licking the sweaty mess from her back. Feeling as content as she is, she can't will herself to mind. Soon, he covers her body with his again, so that they're fully pressed skin to skin and it feels as though it'd be impossible to remove one without the other.

Time distorts itself as they lie in bed. Hours shortened into minutes. Seconds that stretch themselves beyond recognition. She tries not to think about what will happen when it sets itself right. They have to take it one day at a time.

* * *

New dark veins mar his flesh like an intricate maze etched into marble and this is how Sookie marks their nights. She traces each appearing line, following the network of routes with her fingers, her mouth, the tip of her tongue trailing fading heat over contours of hard muscles, longing to draw out the poison and infuse comfort into his skin.

Days when he's in a playful mood, when the stem of black is only a trickle, he teases her about her maudlin kisses. "If I'd known," he says, voice rough with a groan as her teeth rake over his nipple and a hand resting in her hair. "If I'd known all it took was a little blood virus…"

Other times his sullenness is enough for two. His state of mind is so dour those nights that Pam can stand only an hour or two before needing the distraction of Fangtasia's upkeep, leaving Sookie to bear the brunt of the evening and his despondency.

Harder still are the instances where he's still in bed when she arrives. It's rarely willingly, she knows, even as he tries to disguise the fatigue under the pretence of reading or doing paperwork. She's never had to watch someone succumb to an illness. Never thought a vampire would be her first.

With a heavy heart, she watches as those nights begin to outnumber all others.

Three weeks from when Bill showed up at her doorstep and Sookie has become a near daily visitor, it's one of the better evenings. Eric has his head on her lap, her fingers sifting through the blond strands of his hair as she reads aloud from a book of his choosing. He has been subdued since she's arrived. Unnaturally so, she would have once said, thinking back to their early days a lifetime ago. This is very much the new norm, but he is uncharacteristically quiet even for that.

She glances down to take him in, pausing from her reading. He almost looks asleep, curled in towards her; his lashes melt into inky rivulets over eyelids, feeding into the streams and rivers now cascading from his hair. They frame his face with shadowy branches, the longest stretching its tip to kiss the corner of his lips. She leans over to kiss him, too, feels the smile on his mouth, and blindly puts aside the book in hand as he holds her to him with threaded fingers through her hair.

"Where did you go?" She asks quietly. It worries her how long he sleeps into the night now, how often she has to call him back to himself.

Eric opens his eyes slowly, lazily; the vivid blue a stark contrast to the obsidian branding of his flesh. He has been so far from her tonight, in a realm completely of his own.

"Stay the day with me," he invites softly, pressing a kiss on her wrist.

Sookie smiles back, all at once relieved and faintly amused. "And do what?"

"Sleep. Anything. Nothing." He trails several more kisses along her arm. "Just stay."

It's hard to begrudge him this, so small a thing, so she agrees and he pulls her down on the couch under him.

He holds her tight and she presses back equally as hard, her hands digging into his hips. His face is so close to her own. Thoughtful eyes that trace the shape of her jaw, roam the contours of her lips, the natural dips and crests of her cheeks and eyes. But it feels more than that, as though she is being redrawn, preserved for eternity under his unrelenting gaze.

She doesn't want to think about what that means.

Her hand drifts down between them, wanting to feel him, but Eric stops her with one of his own. "Sookie," he starts. "I can't."

Oh. _Oh_.

A bolt of anger, red and hot, surges through her that even this is taken from them. It dies instantly when she looks at Eric and sees a smile so bashful he looks every bit the human he once was. Her heart flutters at the sight.

"But," he continues, voice as smooth as the hands that unbutton her jeans, "there are ways around that." In a fluid movement he slides down her legs, her pants and underwear descending with him only to be carelessly tossed to the side.

By the time her mind catches up to his actions, her body is already loosening under his attention. "Eric, stop. We don't have to." She pulls gently on his hair, urging him up, but he doesn't budge.

There's a fleeting kiss on her navel. "Let me." Another on her hip and she tries not to squirm. "I want to do this for you." Lower still, his lips skim the inside of her thigh. Her breath hitches. "I want to make you feel good."

And then his tongue is flat against her, cool and wet and rough. A mind numbing friction that leaves her trembling and biting fingers into the fabric of the sofa. It's a mouth made for carnal pleasure; that has her gasping, moaning, dragging nails over his scalp as he slowly sucks on her clit. An incoherent mess of words gushes out of her, and she's not entirely sure if she's pleading for more or begging for mercy because Eric is incessant, dominating her flesh with curled fingers and lips and a devilish tongue.

She writhes helplessly under him, hips shifting against his face even as he burrows within her folds and all she can see are blue eyes peeking up at her. Her own roll in the back of her head when he gives a small growl on her skin, the sound skittering up her abdomen and settling deep in the bones of her sternum. She is already so close, breaths coming in short, harsh pants. The room feels too warm. Sweat collects between her breasts. All she hears is the dancing of her heartbeat. All she feels are the calloused pads of his hands moving in her, the glide of his tongue over and around her clit. Then the wave of contracting muscles that leaves her crying out and arching her back.

Afterwards, he rests his head against her thigh, eyes closed, taking a moment himself. The room's still spinning around when Eric pulls her into a hug. "That was good?" He's pleased with himself. Rightly so, too. "Not bad for an invalid?" She pinches his side and feels his laugh rumble against her chest. No, not bad at all.

They find their way to the master bedroom, Eric's roaming hands prolonging the trek.

And before dawn has a chance to creep over the horizon, Sookie loses her herself several times over until even the gentlest touch from his lips and tongue blurs pain and pleasure.

She sleeps the day away with arms wrapped tight around his torso, a leg over his hip, and face pressed between the blades of his shoulder. He knits their fingers together to keep her close, and feels the breaths on his neck slow and even out. Eric closes his eyes, hoping for eternity to last in a day.

* * *

Pam gives her a look as Sookie makes her way up the stairs. She doesn't think much of it. Pam is full of miserable looks these days.

His back is to her, momentarily bare of any clothes. A glimpse is all she sees of a fine network of black lines before it's hidden away beneath a shirt. She pads up to him, swiping a hand affectionately through his hair as he does up the buttons. Then she sees it.

The coffin sits square in his room, _Anubis_ written in thick, black strokes on the cover. A pink elephant come to life.

"Pam going on a trip?" There's a moment where she absurdly thinks his child couldn't have picked a worse time.

Eric's reply is succinct. "Yes." He's watching her carefully she notices, and doesn't quite understand.

Sensing something obviously amiss, she glances back at the coffin. "Going with her?" She's only joking, but the look on Eric's face makes her freeze.

"Sookie." He takes a heavy step towards her, and, automatically, she steps back, heart erratically beating in her ears.

"How long?"

He has the decency to appear contrite and that says more than anything else ever could.

"Fuck you." It's out of her mouth before the etiquette filter on her brain can do its job.

She's mistaken; it wasn't sorrow Pam had eyed her with earlier. It was pity. Never has she felt a bigger fool than now.

A flare of his nostrils betrays his frustration. Sookie couldn't care less.

"Death comes for us all, sooner or later. Should I wait here and have you see me wither me to dust?" The agitated tone of his voice is undeniable even as he breaks off into an unintelligible string of words and peers thoughtfully at her.

There's a lump in her throat the exact size needed to stifle her speech. All this time they've been on borrowed time and now Eric is willingly turning back the clock. His image blurs and only then she realizes the tears clinging to her lashes. She angrily wipes them away before they are given life on her cheeks. "What about me?" No, she's not above playing this card.

But he has her beat there, too. "You will live your life as you meant to."

What a sanctimonious load of shit. Fucking vampire. Of all the high-handed things he's done in the past, they all pale in comparison to this.

"I can't delay more than I have. Pam is adamant, but she's right." The proof is written over his entire skin like an elaborate etch-a-sketch. When he avoids meeting her gaze though, she knows that's not the whole truth.

Suddenly, a realization dawns on her.

Why Bill had been so insistent; why he had shown up at all that night; Eric's initial surprise at her presence in his home.

"You were going to leave before." He doesn't confirm it, but his silence says everything for him. Had there already been a coffin in the room that first time? She tries to think back, but can only recall the jumble of nerves she had been. "Again. Without me knowing?"

The muscle in his jaw ticks and, yes, apparently that had been exactly his plan.

Sookie looks away. "I guess you tied up all your loose ends then." She infuses all the bitterness and anger she can muster into her words.

"What was I supposed to think?" And his voice is wrought with a deeper frustration.

This is something he's been holding onto for awhile.

"Go ahead," she goads. "Say it." But he stubbornly presses his lips together.

No, if he's going to leave her then they're sure as hell going to do this. Sookie grabs the closest thing she can – one of the hair product she had bought, go figure – and flings it at him. In her anger, her aim is woefully off and he easily dodges it. "Say it, you fucking coward," she demands.

His mouth turns down into a snarl and he takes the bait.

"Where were you?" he spits out. Finally. _Finally_. "What – was my true death such an inconvenience for your – your social calendar?" The words rip from him in bursts, tripping over each other, and she's never heard him so flustered. "For months, I – where the fuck were you, Sookie?"

Outrage is hot on her tongue, but she doesn't get a chance to wield it.

Blood splutters past his lips and Eric's as shocked as her. Their eyes meet for a brief second before –

No.

Sookie rushes forward just as his legs buckle.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

His weight is entirely too much, even in the state he's in, and they fall together to the floor, on their knees.

Sookie's both crying and screaming hysterically. The blood doesn't stop and his whole body is heaving – he's dying right in her arms. "_Pam!_" She clutches at his shirt, his hair, trying to keep him from sliding further into the oasis of red death surrounding them. Like a frantic prayer, it falls from her lips, "I love you." She can't stop her sobs any more than she can stem the flow of blood. "I love you," she cries into his neck again and again, willing it to be enough.

This is how Pam finds them, broken and bloodied.

Eric's gone still in her arms, and Sookie prays that's a good thing.

"Please, Pam. Please." She doesn't even know what she's pleading for anymore.

"Sookie," Pam says in a slow, steady voice. "You have to let go."

She has a death grip around his body, fingers that turn white from holding him so tightly to her. It takes a few seconds for Pam's words to infiltrate through the fog of terror.

_Let go_.

She has to let him go.

With more gentleness and patience than she could have ever imagined of her, Pam eases them apart.

The tears have stopped, but her chin still quivers as she silently watches Pam lift Eric's still body and place it in the travel coffin. Mere seconds are the longest she leaves his side, to fetch an ornate canteen and nurse the concoction down his throat. Sookie doesn't ask what's inside – one of the many details they avoided discussing over the weeks.

She realizes she's still sitting in his blood and frantically gets up.

"I think," Pam speaks quietly, eyes never lifting from her master, "it's best if you leave now."

Panic edges at her mind. She swallows heavily, clutching her arms around herself in a nervous gesture. "What will –" Hiccup. "What will happen to him?"

Silence.

A fresh wave of sobs assaults her and it's all she can do to breathe through her mouth to keep them at bay. Her limbs feel thick and heavy, legs trudging through what feels like molasses. Sookie stops by the casket. He looks so pale and waxy, so unlike himself. The only familiar sight is the bloody lips – a modicum of comfort.

As she passes she catches a glimpse of Pam's face, of crimson trails down her cheeks and partly now understands why her gaze was fixated on the body in the coffin.

"He's going home." It's said so quietly, Sookie's unsure it was said at all.

She leaves them and drives back to the safety of the farmhouse, Eric's blood on her hands.

* * *

It has perhaps been the longest two days of her existence. Certainly longer than any day has the right to be. She's driven by the house in Shreveport during the daytime and at night. It stands a husk, devoid of all signs of life.

It seems he really has left.

She dejectedly stumbles out of her car, just having got off from Merlotte's. The sun beats heavily on her back and neck, but all she craves is the coolness of the night.

There's a familiar figure sitting on her porch bench.

"Niall." He stands up and moves towards in her in one graceful move.

"Granddaughter." He envelops her into one of his much-needed hugs, her spirits rising slightly from the contact.

When she starts feeling too good, she steps away and tucks her hair behind her ear. "What can I do you for?"

He holds out a hand, conjuring a pale, shimmering stone on the flat of his palm.

Sookie looks up at him, not fully understanding.

Niall smiles back kindly.

* * *

I don't care what book/show Niall would do - THIS one does what I tell him to do! **Thoughts always appreciated.**


	3. iii

**A/N:** I wish Pam and Sookie had had a better relationship on the show.

Part 3/5. Post series.

**Word Count:** 3389

* * *

iii.

"You have grown sentimental in your old age, Eric."

Some days he questions his sanity on the night he created his child. He says nothing, but that has never stopped Pam.

"Why must you torture yourself so?"

He knows she is concerned, worried about what he might do. Truth is, he is too. This is a wound that never quite scabbed over right; one that he still carries in his heart.

The last of the lights flicker out from the house across the field, a candle that's blown out by the wind. Pam shifts closer.

"You allow her too much of yourself."

Eric disagrees, thinking he should have allowed more all those years ago.

He rubs at his chest, as if to soothe the lingering hurt that emerges. It is difficult for his child to understand, he knows and doesn't begrudge her this. How can he, when it is him she has learned everything from?

Tonight, though, he desires the solitude of his thoughts and memories. If he is to do what he must, then he would have himself at peace.

"Eric."

Her tone is insistent now, and finally he tears his gaze away from the house to beckon her over. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, and urges her lightly, "Go home, Pam. I'll meet you there." She expresses her displeasure in the cloud of dust that kicks up as she leaves. Eric holds back a sigh, refusing to indulge her juvenile antics. Tonight is for himself.

The air is static, and it seems as if everything is holding its breath.

There's movement at the door. The creak of rusty hinges, and the snap that follows as it shuts.

Eric stills.

"You can come out now." It's a whisper carried on the wind to his ears.

Of course. He should have shown.

He steps out from under the darkness of the canopy, into the gleam of moonlight. Waits with something powerful squeezing his chest as Sookie nears him.

"Well, howdy there, stranger." And her smile is easy, all warmth that pours from her lips. It crawls up his spine; seeps into his skin like water through a crevice – he can't believe how easily he falls into her again.

The vice around his torso releases and all he can manage in that moment is her name.

"Miss. Stackhouse."

The smile dims a little, sadness now tingeing the corners. "There's a name I haven't heard in a while."

"My apologies," he offers promptly. "Mrs. Harrison." It's a strange taste on his tongue, stranger still to hear it outside the recesses of his mind. She'll always be Sookie Stackhouse to him.

"Eric," she returns. Exasperation, fondness, amusement all curving around the letters of his name – a melody of sound he hasn't heard in far too long. "I can't believe I forgot how handsome you are," she laughs quietly.

His heart lightens like it always has. He tries not to preen at her words, but it pleases him more than he should allow that she still finds him so. "You're looking well."

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "C'mon, Eric. Birth three times takes a toll on a woman. Especially on your favourite parts." Gestures towards herself, an eyebrow quirked to tease.

He takes the bait, hook and all. "They still are." And ogles her unabashedly, delighting in her laugh even as she pretends to be outraged.

"You behave now, you hear?" But the grin tugging at her lips belies the tenor of her voice and something far more tender than affection blooms inside his chest to have her so at ease with him. Even now, after all this time.

It's such an easy thing to give her, these tiny pieces of his heart.

Her face is softer; her hips as well; and he thinks he can see the beginning creases around her eyes made by years of laughter.

All signs of a life blessed with love and the passing of time.

"What's twenty years to a thousand? An hour in time, nothing more," he muses before giving her a considering glance. "You have only grown more beautiful in the last hour, Sookie Stackhouse."

Maybe he's grown softer over the years, too, after all. He thinks perhaps that's not so bad where she is concerned.

Sookie tucks her hair behind her ear, eyes fleeing away from his in embarrassment. "Stop it." Her blush is still as pretty.

The silence lingers sweetly in the air, alongside the soft whistle of crickets through the long reeds of grass around them.

"Why did you wait so long?" she asks quietly after a moment.

A myriad of reasons fly into his mind:

Because it's what she wanted.

Because he didn't know not to.

Because he finds, even after two decades, he loves her as much as he ever has.

"You were happy." There's a touch of wistfulness to his voice that can't be helped.

"Most of the time, yeah."

He knows of her unhappiness, too. Remembers picking the flowers, writing platitudes in a card that hopefully didn't ring hollow. He didn't know her husband, but he knew of loss and death; of grief; and he had tried to pass comfort into a four-inch fold of paper to a young mother.

"Momma?"

Sookie's eyes peer around the screen door of her house, and that's where the resemblance ends.

"Go on, then. I'll be in, in a minute."

For a moment Eric worries goodbye comes far sooner than he expects. He was counting on a little more time with her.

The boy doesn't move though, regarding them suspiciously. Rather, regarding Eric suspiciously. Eric looks back, curious as well.

Sookie's son is all gangly limbs, the dregs of his childhood still clinging to his face. An awkward phase of life when he's not quite yet a man; just a boy stepping into the empty shoes of his father with a serious set to his lips and eyes as he stares down the stranger next to his mother. Eric admires his boldness.

Sookie grumbles about the stubbornness of teenagers and Eric has to suppress a smirk as he recalls all the times he had to suffer _her_ stubbornness.

"Do you have some time? Stay awhile?" She smiles up at him and he finds himself smiling back.

He has all the time in the world for her tonight.

She ushers her son back into the house with a tone inherent to all mothers and Eric is swiftly taken back to the heat of a longhouse, the smell of damp earth filling his nostrils and a scolding in his ears. He can almost feel the rush of blood to his face.

The memory dissipates gradually, until he's once again occupying a small corner of northern Louisiana.

* * *

Her life has spilled into the open area around her home: a trio of bikes casually resting along the railing on the side; various forms of bats and balls strewn about the yard with just as many shoes lining the door; a pit not too far from him, pokers sticking out of the remains of a recent fire, and a tent pegged nearby.

And he thinks it's strange that, after a millennium of existence, the everyday experiences of her life should be so foreign to him.

When she returns, he's waiting on the porch swing, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. There's a small piece of paper clutched in her hands as she joins him, sitting close enough for his skin to be pleasantly prickled by her warmth.

"Your son," he says. Something peculiar stirs in his chest.

She indulges him, amusement crinkling her eyes. "Yes, my son."

Sookie – a mother. The idea still leaves him a little dizzy.

She holds out the scrap of paper and he sees it's a picture of three boys, each gazing back at him with her eyes. The older two take after their father, he guesses, with dark hair and their high cheekbones.

The smallest, though…the smallest is his mother in her entirety with his sharp face, wide grin, and a tousle of blond hair. Even from the photo he can see the unruly spark in the child's eye.

"They're beautiful, Sookie." He means it, too.

"They are." The pride in her words is evident; it shines through her eyes and open smile. "I think they're the best thing I've done."

He thinks about Pam and understands what she means.

"Thomas," she points to the oldest of the three and Eric recognizes him as the one who had appeared at the door. "Sometimes I worry he's had to grow too fast." The boy would barely have been an adolescent when he lost his father.

"He helps you?"

"Too much," Sookie tsks but Eric nods his approval. As it should be. It had been no different when he was alive.

He nudges her foot. "The others?"

She breaks out of the thoughtful silence she had been lost in and gives an apologetic smile for her lapse in manners. "Jonathan." She says it slowly. Carefully. The second of her sons.

He mimics her, keeping his voice low. "After your husband."

"The spitting image, too." One of her fingers fondly traces over the photo, and this time Eric allows her the lull in conversation. A surge of protectiveness washes over him, catching him off-guard in the quietness of the moment, and leaves behind a longing to shield her from further pain of loss. He recognizes the futility even as he feels it.

"Has the patience of an ox." She shoots a wry grin at him and he understands what she doesn't say: Another thing from his father.

She shifts her gaze to the last and her face brightens.

The camaraderie between the older two is clear, arms slung around each other's shoulders and close in age and height. Their little brother barely reaches their elbows, but not forgotten as one holds him firmly by the shoulder in front of them and the other ruffles his hair.

"My youngest," she chuckles, "he has a wild heart, that one. You couldn't keep him down with cement blocks tied to his feet."

"He takes after you," Eric notes.

"More than that. An adventurer. Fearless." There's nothing but love in her voice. "Three years back, he was five and convinced he could fly if he jumped off the roof. Oh, you should have seen me." She buries her head in her hands, laughing off her embarrassment. "I was such a mess – you'd think I'd never seen blood before."

Eric smiles. Indeed, that would have been a sight to see. "It's your child; you were scared." That, too, he draws from experience. Pam in a white cell, wearing blue, flashes across his mind.

"You know, I actually –" She shakes her head, flustered.

"What?"

"It's nothing."

But he's never allowed her to hide before. "Tell me anyway."

Her eyes glance away, out towards the woods. "I thought about calling you then. There was so much blood, and I…"

This admittance startles him. What he says next, though, doesn't. "I would have come." He takes her hand and twines their fingers together, pressing comfort into her palm. "If you had needed me, I would have come." In a heartbeat, he realizes. He would have stopped at nothing to make sure her son walked away unscathed. He knows that without a doubt.

Sookie squeezes his hand like she knows it too.

"Five stitches to the head and a broken arm later, it didn't seem so life-ending anymore."

"Now? Still fearless?"

"And proud of the scar, too," she says with exasperation. He can't help but laugh.

Mothers will be mothers in any era, and so will boys, it seems.

Pulling her hand away, she walks out into the grass, leaving him to follow.

The air has chilled. Goosebumps pimple her skin and Eric balls his fists to stop from reaching out to rub them away.

"You love him."

She looks up sharply. "I love all of them."

"No," Eric corrects. He should have picked his words more carefully. "You're scared for him."

He wonders what else her son has inherited from her.

She sighs. "Maybe a little," Sookie acquiesces, wrapping her arms around herself. "I try not to, but he's my last; my baby." She understands what he was trying to say, after all.

"You wonder if it'll be enough," he guesses. Trying to fill the void of a second parent with love enough for both. Would the child have more than a lasting impression of his father? "He has his brothers; and he has you. He'll want for nothing."

"Do you think so?" she asks honestly. Her eyes are curious. A crisp shade of blue he knows from experience he won't forget anytime soon.

"Yes," he answers without hesitation. Then thinks about what he knows of her own childhood and it's not hard to see from where her insecurities stem. Photo still in hand, he glances down at it, the frayed edges speaking of the countless number of times it's been handled. She peers at it from over his arm, standing closer now, before sliding her eyes to him. What she's looking for, he can't say.

He offers the photo back, and when she takes it gingerly from him, it leaves behind a pleasing tingle from where their fingers brush. "What's his name?" he asks to distract himself from the sensation.

"Eric."

He's about to repeat his question, but then catches the shy look on her face. The world shrinks to just the two of them, in an open field under an infinite sea of stars, and he's never felt so humbled in his long life.

Colour floods her cheeks as she tries to explain. "It's just – when he was born, he was early, you know? Too early and they thought – they weren't so sure he would make it. The odds were against him, they said. And – even then, he was such a fighter. He beat the odds, Eric – he wasn't supposed to, and I just – I looked at him and I knew," she rambles, and his heart softens even more.

There isn't anything for her to justify, not to him.

"It is an honour to share a name with a son of yours, Sookie," he says with nothing but truth. Then, a moment later. "Eric Stackhouse," tasting it on his lips. "It has a definite ring to it." He grins.

She side-eyes him with a bemused look. "You know they all have their daddy's name."

Eric decides to shift her attention back to the house. "Your oldest doesn't trust easily." He gestures with his chin towards the window closest to them, hearing the heartbeat hidden behind the curtains.

"Well, I've never had a gentleman caller before," she quips, bumping his shoulder with hers.

He raises an eyebrow and drops his voice. "Is that what I am?" And, yes, he's flirting. They both fall into the rhythm so effortlessly.

"Perhaps _gentleman_ isn't the right term," she retorts when he gives a wolfish flash of teeth.

Bon Temps hasn't hosted a vampire since Bill. Her kids wouldn't know the experience of one. But a strange man visiting their mother under the cover of darkness can offer very few explanations, and none of them to their liking.

"That boy is too curious for his own good," Sookie sighs, and he senses this is a tried point of late. Not for the first time he wonders how much she has revealed to her children, if any of them are inclined to the preternatural.

"I could set him straight, if you'd like." His lips curl up to show some fang. "He worries for you," Eric says with seriousness a moment later, being all too well acquainted with the feeling himself. He wonders who else worries for her these days.

She shakes her head, folding her arms. "That's my job, not his." Then turns to look square at the window, and in a second's time it's just the two of them again. "Now, you didn't come all this way to play catch up, I'm sure." Her lips quirk up, and the gesture is so familiar something inside him aches at the sight.

"And if I did? It's gruff, the way it comes out, emotion bleeding through despite his best intentions.

Sookie tilts her head, eyes narrowing playfully at him. "What kind of trouble are you in?" she teases.

And he's glad, now more than ever, there is no longer a beating heart inside his chest that can break; that he doesn't have breath to escape his lungs at the unexpected pain from her words.

He thinks about Pam, waiting at the house; about the contingent of vampires he'll be leading the next night across state lines to deal with a monarch that has taken far too keen an interest in his area. He thinks about what it'll mean if he's successful, the security it'll bring to Louisiana and to Sookie's family. More than that, he thinks about what might happen should he fail. There are contingency plans, of course, to safeguard Sookie and her sons if the worst comes to pass. Favours and markers long owed he's called in, but he'd rather be intact to see them through. Even if it means facing her ire.

So, what kind of trouble is he in? The worst kind.

He coughs to give himself a moment. "No trouble."

She stares him down, unfazed. "Hmm, vamp secrets. Haven't missed those." The tone is light, but the arc of her eyebrows tell a different story. When he doesn't answer, she drops her hands, frowns, and steps closer. "How worried should I be?"

He looks past her head, at the house standing tall over her shoulder.

She's safe and happy – that's all he's ever wanted for her.

Though a part of him wishes it would have been with him.

"Eric?"

A light press of fingers on his chest brings him back. She's standing much closer now. The expression on her face makes him think, perhaps, he shouldn't have waited quite so long. Reaching out a hand, he smoothes back the hair at her temple, letting his fingers linger in the softness, watching as she pulls her lower lip between pearly white teeth.

Not wanting to startle her, he dips his head slowly, until his forehead comes to rest against hers, skin on skin. The contact is comforting, like the second or third pull of blood from a willing body after the exhilaration of the first has faded. Familiarity and contentment.

Eric eyes her lips, so close to his own. Feels the brush of hands up his torso as they slide over the broad expanse to his shoulders and up. Fingers scratch through his hair and he can't help the flutter of eyelids that close, the pleasure that warms his chest and neck. A rumble starts in his throat when the soft of her cheek rubs against the rough stubble on his jaw.

He nudges her nose a little. Just barely brushes her lips with his own.

She tugs on his hair. "Don't be such a tease, Eric." Her voice is light and playful, and he can easily hear the smile in her words.

He gives her she wants. Turns his head just a touch to first press a kiss on the corner of her mouth, then fully, properly, closing his lips around hers. He has one hand clasped on the curve of her chin, thumb lightly grazing back and forth over unblemished skin; the other journeys down the column of her throat, following the quickened pulse to the base where it beats erratic under the tips of his fingers. She opens beneath him and it's like he's being pulled under, no fight in him left.

The kiss is soft, slow, as he tries to infuse a lifetime's worth of love to her.

Eric's the first to break away. Any longer and he may invite himself into something far more permanent than her bed.

Sookie's eyes are clear, open. She sees him.

It's more than he deserves.

He takes a step back. Then another. His feet lift off the ground, until he's drifting away. "Goodnight, Miss. Stackhouse."

Her figure gets smaller, melting into the landscape.

It comes as a sigh on the wind: "Goodnight, Eric."

* * *

As a general rule, I don't read or write kid!fic. 'Thomas' is inspired from another fic: _The End is Where We Start From_ by Shem (Pride &amp; Prejudice), whose OC Thomas Davis is perhaps the most realistic and well-developed character I've come across in any fandom and single-handedly changed my opinion on the existence of good kid!fic. If I were to give Sookie any kids, it would be him. Check out the story on Ao3 if you're a P&amp;P fan.

**Thoughts always welcome.**


End file.
